Bella Ciao
by Donna Vito Frutti
Summary: What if there was another in the team. Paris. Someone who knew the Professor and Berlin very well. Was professional, knew how to rein in emotions, be cold and practical, like Berlin or Nairobi. Unlike Nairobi, she had more reasons to come back for Berlin at the vault. Unlike Nairobi, she chose to walk away herself. (BerlinxOC) A Berlin tribute and self-insert. May not be in order.
1. Chapter 1

It had been a week. And the fact that the lessons were interspersed with food, talk and sports- the Professor insisted on a healthy mind in a healthy body- meant that they were all gelling quickly. They were bonding. From the heist's perspective, it meant that they would act like a team, show team spirit and perform their parts perfectly when the time came. At least in theory.

Despite the Professor's rules about personal relationships, some bonded better than others. And some had bonds beyond what mere rules could dictate. And if the Professor knew only a little about the latter, he was completely ignorant about the former.

Paris had kept to herself most of the time. Not much for talk but always game for football and food. Lessons, of course, were mandatory.

At first, the gang had thought her mute. But then, someone mentioned Caesar salad one afternoon and the topic of Julius Caesar came up. She rose to give Mark Antony's speech completely by heart. She bowed graciously and accepted the applause and compliments that followed, with a cheeky grin.

It quickly turned into a lively session of drama, mimicry and impersonation. Paris winked at the Professor and he smiled back. Berlin grinned at her and then looked away just in time to see Nairobi rising to her feet. She delivered a film quote but was immediately corrected by Helsinki who argued that it was actually from the Bible- soon they had a play fight. And then Helsinki imitated the bear from Jungle Book. Tokyo was Cat Woman- Michelle Pfeiffer's, she clarified. She acted scared of the bear who chased her. Rio, declaring himself Superman jumped in to save the damsel in distress but was butted out of the way by the bear. Denver was Milla Jovovich and shot the bear, Superman and Cat Woman down. And then Moscow was on his feet and he rendered a sad funeral song for his fallen comrades. Berlin swayed gently on the spot in tune with the song as he imitated a slow, mock dance step, eliciting laughs from Oslo and the Professor.

By the time the little party was over, it was evening and time for another short session. And when it was over, rather than leave for her room as always, Paris stopped in her tracks, turned and then went in another direction.


	2. Chapter 2

Three sharp knocks. Almost immediately the door opened.

"Paris..."

"Howdy."

Paris wriggled through it and entered the room. Berlin shut the door behind her. "By all means, come on in," he said, drily. He watched her as she looked around his room.

"Thanks," Paris said, not missing a beat. "It was cold outside." She turned to him. "Quite the setup, eh? Fine dining and fine living. He knows how to dress it up, doesn't he? _The Professor_."

Berlin smirked. "A controlled environment. And a place we can call home before we..." He trailed off.

"Before we rush headlong into danger? Just in case we die?" She finished for him.

Berlin closed his eyes and shook his head. "No, the plan is perfect."

Paris snorted. "Sure. All plans are, until you work them."

Berlin didn't reply. "I take it you couldn't sleep?"

"Just came to chat. It's been more than a week and we haven't talked much since we arrived here." She sat on the nearest chair facing him.

"Why are you here, Paris?" he asked, softly.

She looked at him. "Same reason you are. The money. The rush. _The message."_

Berlin chuckled. He reached out for the wine and poured himself a glass.

"The message," he repeated, as though tasting the letters. "Like that matters." He chuckled again. The irony of it. She shrugged. Nobody spoke for a while.

"It's great to see you again, Andres," Paris said. "I didn't think it would be in this fashion, but I'll take what I can get."

"Likewise," he said, and asked, "You've been keeping yourself busy."

"You know how I easily get bored. The two college degrees, the four jobs... it's just never enough."

"Ah, wanderlust. I take it your last career didn't exactly take off, either."

She shook her head. "I quit just weeks before."

"But why?"

"Doesn't matter." She pointed to the canvas behind her. "I see you still draw like you used to."

"A man's got to have a hobby." He smiled for the first time since they started talking and the act lit up his face. "I've been travelling a little myself, you know. Italy, especially."

"Ah. One of your favourites."

"Would you believe me if I told you I'd been living with monks?"

"With monks, certainly. Like a monk? I doubt it."

Berlin laughed, and Paris with him.

"I came close. All those chants and songs and prayers," he said. "But with wine."

Paris raised an eyebrow. "And wedding rings?"

"Well..." He said nothing further and absently rubbed his finger.

"Who's she?" Paris asked, bringing him back from the reverie.

"She's... Nobody."

"Clearly, she broke your heart." She observed.

"She wouldn't be the only one."

"And five times in a row."

He said a single word. "Six."

The corners of Paris' mouth curled. "You're drunk."

"Still true."

She leaned back into the chair. "It's good to be free though, isn't it? No strings attached. Always wanted to live in Italy myself. Don many roles. Live many lives. Do it all." She sighed. "Be a Renaissance man."

Berlin tapped his glass against his armrest. "There's are ideas teeming in your head and you don't know what to do with them. You're an artist without an art. A sculptor... Without her sculpture."

"I'll take your word for it," Paris said.

"I'd like to draw you." Berlin said, abruptly.

Paris grinned. "Where would you like me to sit?"

"Nah, I've got you memorised." He raised his thumb and index fingers at eye level. Magnificence. "Someday. If we get out of there..."

Paris raised an eyebrow. "If?"

"You know how heists work. We could go to prison."

She waved her hand, unconcerned. "If we're lucky, we'll all go together."

Berlin leaned forward. "I'm serious. This is the most dangerous, the most serious job we've ever undertaken, Paris."

She shrugged. "I'm not worried. Why are you?"

"Because it's not just you, me and Sergio. It's seven other people. Seven unknown variables. Wildcards. A ticking time bomb. The plan may be perfect, we are not."

"Well then, we'll simply have to take charge of them, won't we?"

Berlin nodded slowly. "Will you be in command?"

"Nah. Been there. Done that. Nobody listens and everybody hates you. I've already declined."

"Well, then, I suppose Sergio will ask me next. "

Paris paused. "You're the only other person capable of leading us."

"Perhaps."

His fingers rattled against his cup as he raised it to his lips again. Paris looked up sharply.

"Tempranillo?"

"Priorat."

She rose to her feet. "Leave me some." He raised it to her. Paris took the glass with his fingers wrapped around in her hands.

"Cold," she said.

He looked at her in quiet contemplation, his fingers lightly brushing against her palm.

"It's been that way for a while now."

She took the glass from him and downed it in one gulp. And then knelt before him. Neither spoke. She stroked his hand for some time before finally breaking the silence.

"How long?" She asked as she pressed his hand to her lips. He didn't answer immediately.

"Eight months. Maybe ten."

Paris nodded slowly. "Sergio told me."

Berlin reached out to touch her face. "Is that why you agreed to this madness?" he asked, his voice gentle. "To spend time with a dying man?"

"Among other things." She said, unfazed, and then continued. "The money could be useful, too."

"I don't imagine you're in desperate need of it."

"Who says it's for me?"

A pause. And then Berlin chuckled again.

"Got any illegitimate children scattered across Europe I should know of? Paris, Paris, I didn't think you were the wild oat-sowing kind."

"And I thought you were. We're full of surprises, aren't we?" She leaned in. "Or, perhaps, just one."

He didn't resist and her lips brushed against his. His eyes were closed as his hand lost itself in her hair, and he kissed her back.

He sighed and broke away. "Paris...the rules..."

"A bit too late for that, don't you think?"

"The plan is important."

"Of course it is. We both know we're capable of following it to a T."

"Is it wise," He said, stroking the side of her face, "to let old memories resurface in a time like this?"

"Where is your sense of adventure?" She grinned in a reckless way that reminded him of the past.

"Come on, let's have a moment." She whispered. "Free from worries. Free from plans and heists. For old time's sake.

For the...art of it."


	3. Chapter 3

"Five divorces." Paris rubbed the spot where a wedding ring had lain a long time ago. "Wonder how that ever happened."

Berlin grinned cheekily. "It's the voice. Women have a thing for voices. Whisper sweet nothings into their ears long enough and they fall hard. The same way you did."

Paris made a face and Berlin shrugged.

"Play is the highest form of research, haven't you heard? Well, I played. A lot."

She looked at him and rolled her eyes. "Aw, you think your argument is right just because it's clever?"

"I was just stating a fact."

"People are more than just facts and biology, Berlin."

"And yet, here you are, in my bed." He smirked as though in victory. Paris rolled over so that she was looking down at him.

"Ahh, the age-old conundrum. Did my heart choose you or was I just following my base instincts?" His smile fading a little, Berlin reached for her face.

"Perhaps, some truths are better left unsaid."

"You'll do well to remember that more often, then."

He looked at her. "Perhaps...I'll have you to remind me."

She said nothing for a while. "If only we had enough time, hmm?"

"Tempus, quæ devoratrix omnium."

How true that phrase was. Their time at the mansion would end. The heist would end. And Berlin would waste away until he died. No matter how one looked at it, it would always end between them.

Time, the devourer of all things. It rang true in her mind, over and over again, almost like the bells of a church. All the more reason to cling to each other now.

All the less time-

"All the more reason."


	4. Chapter 4

"Remember when we talked of wild oats?" she said. Berlin nodded.

"Well, I do have a couple."

As Berlin looked at her in question, she explained. "I was in France for a while."

Berlin sighed in mock agony.

She grinned at him. "Pardon my French...man."

They laughed. Lost in thoughts, Berlin propped himself on an arm and took her hand in his.

"Remember the time when you turned me down, years ago?" Berlin asked, his voice soft. Paris looked at him and nodded slowly.

"I never understood why."

Paris took a deep breath. "I refused you because you were a robber," she said, finally.

Berlin chuckled softly.

"And yet here you are, taking part in a heist."

"This one's different, isn't it? It's the very last one."

His smile died and a faraway look was in his eyes. Wordlessly, he rose and moved towards the jug of water.

Paris frowned. "I was referring to the fact that we're going to be millionaires, Berlin. Not your illness."

Berlin shook his head. "I know. Don't worry about it."


	5. Chapter 5

They were discreet. Much more so than Rio and Tokyo at any rate. But the fact that they shacked up often, and the fact that they and Nairobi and Denver were something of a clique and partied together often, meant that Paris didn't have to sneak around much; she simply had to wait until they were busy.

The Professor, if he knew, said nothing. That was his way of being discreet. But then, he would have known that it was an eventuality. He had wisely allocated them rooms far from his. Plausible deniability.

Berlin's idea of being discreet was to stay put in his room. He never stopped her from coming. And she was aware that despite the rules and the danger of breaking them, he thoroughly enjoyed their little encounters. She could read him just as easily as he could draw her.

Some nights, that's what they did, lying in each other's arms.


	6. Chapter 6

"Everybody is having fun. The kids are out having a party. And us...Well, everyone but _Little Brother_."

"He's bound to be a party pooper."

She sipped from her cup as she leaned against the window, eyes closed and humming in complete contentment. Berlin watched her quietly and smiled. Then turned to look out the window and cursed.

"What is it?"

"Denver! He's wearing my jacket. He keeps borrowing my stuff without asking."

Paris laughed. "Go easy on him. He's just a kid having some fun." Finishing her drink, she put her robe on and dressed quickly. "Well, I gotta go before they discover me. Or worse, The Professor." She made a mock horrified face.

"I'll work on my painting for a while." He said as he helped her with the sash. "Late nights and early mornings are just the best."

"Great. And I'll do some reading. If not to study then at least to fall asleep quickly. Form, Space, & Order."

Berlin turned and raised an eyebrow.

"What?" Paris grinned. "Being a millionaire is no excuse to sit at home and do nothing. A woman's gotta work."

"I told you so. A sculptor must sculpt."


	7. Chapter 7

Days went by until the only way to keep track of passing time was by crossing months out in the calendar. And watching The Professor write the date on the blackboard.

Then came the last few weeks of their stay. There were tension and excitement in the very air they breathed. Nairobi had reverted to being all business. No parties. No dancing. She lingered in classes even after everybody left to run things by the Professor.

Even Tokyo seemed on edge. Erupting into fights even more than usual, especially with Denver. She caught Moscow and Denver spending time on the balcony reminiscing about their past and full of hope for their future. Rio seemed to retreat into his shell often, rocking back and forth, as he bit his nails. Paris comforted him a few times until she caught Tokyo glaring at her from across the room.

Oslo and Helsinki were often by themselves after everyone dispersed. Sometimes, she heard them firing shots in the backyard at night. In the military, it was often said that the best way to clean one's weapons was to use them.

Berlin kept to himself, too. Rarely did he speak to anyone other than the Professor unless it was in a group. Or Nairobi. There was a sort of respect and friendship developing between them. Perhaps, something more. Occasionally he talked to the soldiers, too. It seemed they knew him from before.

Paris sparred with Nairobi and Helsinki in the evenings as often as she could. She needed to keep fit and ready herself for any eventuality. A quick shower after that and she would decide to visit Berlin. She made sure it wasn't too frequent.

The Professor paced in his room most nights. She knew it. One, because he often got nervous before a big event. And two, because she caught him that night as she was making her way to Berlin.

Sergio had stopped in his tracks and smiled nervously at her.

"Paris," he said. "I was just...er..."

"Sorry, I was just outside, you know, for a walk and the door was open," she said. "I'll leave."

"No, no." Sergio hurried over to her. "Please stay."

His eyes were sunken. More than usual, anyway. His hair was unkempt as though he ran his hand through it a lot. Paris reached out and smoothed it for him. He sighed and bowed his head, resting it against her shoulder.

"Sergio..." she said, softly, as she wrapped her arms comfortingly around him. His arms were more muscular than she remembered. He must have been training alone in his room.

He raised himself and pushed his glasses up his nose. "I can't help but feel that I'm being selfish. All this is for my desire to leave a message out into the world."

"You're also leaving us money. That's why we joined up in the first place."

"I took them from their family, from their lives-"

"You saved them from their family and lives, too. Sergio, Sergio," she said and cupped his face with her hands. "You carry a heavy burden. The burden of feeling responsible for their lives. The burden of not being able to stave off _every _death. It's normal to feel overwhelmed.

But I promise you, _Little Brother,_ we'll get through this. We'll get through it all."

She planted a kiss on his forehead, glancing in the direction of Berlin's room as she held him to herself.

Perhaps it was time.


	8. Chapter 8

He had started to relax. His initial reservations were gone and he didn't doubt their ability to keep things professional while on the job. And he caught himself looking forward to her visits more than once. It was a welcome relief in the midst of plans and deaths and contingencies. Being with her was both old and comforting, and new and exciting.

It was a few weeks before the heist. Berlin smiled and chuckled softly, thinking of Paris, and in anticipation of her nocturnal visits. Rising from the chair, he went over to his door and unlocked it, leaving it ajar. And waited.

And waited.

She never came.

Berlin sighed, only slightly disappointed. He knew what it meant. Getting to his feet, he turned off the lights and climbed into bed.

Just like that, it was over.


	9. Chapter 9 - Moonlight and Stars

The ladies' restroom was usually an uneventful place where women just came to powder their noses or something as ordinary as that. At the moment, though, it was proving to be one of the most exciting places in Spain, least of all because a heist was in progress or because a woman was almost killed in there. People came to vent, too. Women were people.

Tokyo was raging and ranting. Nairobi watched as she walked back and forth. Paris stood by, amused.

"Tokyo, it's fine. Berlin is just trying to be a hardass," Nairobi said. "An asshole, actually," she added, as an afterthought. "But at least he's level headed."

"Why would anybody put Berlin in charge?! He's a frikking psychopath!" Tokyo flung her hands up.

"He ain't that bad, you know, considering this is a heist and not a daycare centre." Tokyo turned slowly to Paris, scowling.

"Why are you so unperturbed by everything he's done?"

"Would you have done any different? I doubt it. He does what any good leader would do."

"Ah, I see. You never oppose him, do you? No, you're more like his lapdog. I bet you've even slept with him."

"Tokyo!" Nairobi warned.

Paris laughed.

"You mean at the mansion? Sure, I slept with him. Been sleeping with him for over twenty years now. What am I to do? The heart wants what the heart wants. Moonlight and stars. But what's all that gotta do with anything? He leads, I follow."

Tokyo smirked. She came closer, her face inches from Paris'.

"Bet you're a psycho just like him."

Paris smiled at her. "Maybe. This is a psycho heist. Perhaps psychos are what you need." She traced an imaginary line along Tokyo's face. "You only know Berlin the Heist Commander. You don't know Berlin the lover. Or really, any other type of Berlin."

"Yeah. No, one was quite enough."

"Well. He's...magnificent." Paris sighed in fond memory. Even Nairobi made a face at that.

"Moonlight and stars, darling," Paris said, facing her and then turned back to Tokyo. "Moonlight and stars. Roses and wine. Candlelight dinners. And pure, consensual, uncensored sex. Oh, how my body would move."

Tokyo looked away. Of course she can't listen to that kind of stuff. Compared to Nairobi and Paris, she was a child in matters of the heart.

"I'm assuming there's nothing further to discuss. Let's head back to our stations, shall we?"

Paris headed out. Nairobi clicked the rifle she was carrying and followed. And after a long moment, so did Tokyo.


	10. Chapter 10 - A Clash Of Styles

Paris waltzed into the office and shut the door behind her. Berlin turned to her as she pulled down the blinds, obscuring them from the outside.

His hand instinctively reached for the gun in his pocket before he relaxed. Paris raised an eyebrow before she spoke.

"It's quite a mess out there, Berlin."

"That's what leading a team is all about, isn't it? You gotta make some hard choices even if nobody likes you for it."

Paris smirked. "Well, then, congratulations. You succeeded. Nobody likes having you in charge. You know what they think of you? A shark."

"Good. Fear is good." Berlin chuckled. Under any other circumstances, it would have been a non-issue. In a robbery, where everyone was bound to be on edge, it was annoying. The strain of the situation was turning them all into less likeable versions of themselves. Paris both hated and loved it.

"Methinks you're letting the leadership get in the way of the plan."

His smile faded then. The unfairness of it all, he thought. And yet, only he could bear the brunt of it all.

"Know what I think? Methinks you're all talk, Paris. All you do is tell me what I should or shouldn't have done. Perhaps you should try walking the talk, eh?"

"I would if I were in charge, but I'm not, am I?"

"No, you declined the offer and left me to do the dirty work."

Paris moved closer to him. "I declined because I knew you were more than capable at this."

"That's not _exactly_ what you said."

"I know what I said. We both know there are only two people capable of commanding the heist. You and me. And Nairobi, but she doesn't know the whole plan like we do."

"Care to explain how you would do it? Maybe I could use a little of your wisdom."

"You're trying too hard. Being an asshole and getting the team to hate your guts isn't productive. Cooperation, with a fair bit of discipline, always works best in the long run. And always, _always_ stick to the plan if it's perfect."

He smiled. "I'm disappointed, Paris. If you think hostages are gonna cooperate with robbers, you're out of your mind. We're the bad guys here."

"Naw, naw, not the hostages, the gang. We're the bad guys, here, yes, but only to the hostages. The gang needs to trust and respect your leadership not fear it. Fear is for the hostages."

Berlin nodded in a cocky manner. "Well, Paris, I'll take your advice into consideration. But if I do things my way, you should remember that you forfeited your right do anything about it."

Paris smirked. "Keep this up and maybe I'll be forced to do something about it."

Berlin pressed his hand over his heart and laughed. "Aww, Paris, Paris. You break my heart. Are you seriously going to break your promise of non-interference?"

Paris didn't find it amusing.

"Just be careful how you play the boss, Berlin. If things go South, I will have to put you out of commission. Fair warning."

His laughter died and he looked dead serious. "Is that a threat?"

"That, my dear Berlin, was a fact. We all know how you like facts." Paris turned to leave but Berlin caught her by the arm making her swing back to face him; she reflexively put up her arm, pushing him and causing him to stagger a little on the spot.

"Careful, Paris. Mutiny's a punishable offence-"

"This ain't a ship-"

"-I'm still the captain. Attempt to pull a coup on me and I will have to punish you. And trust me when I say that I won't go easy on you."

It was Paris' turn to chuckle. "Oh, I don't expect you to. But punish me? For what, for following the plan perfectly? For keeping everyone safe? I don't think so. Not if the Professor hears about it. And especially not if he agrees with me."

His grip on her arm had loosened and she continued.

"So I'd watch my step if I were you, Berlin. There's a lot of resentment and discontent in the air. If things get ugly, I'll be forced to take over anyway, if not to save the team then to save you."

She left, leaving Berlin in deep thought. He moved over to the blinds and opened them. Nairobi was doodling on the glass wall again. He chuckled at her and closed it shut again.


	11. Chapter 11

"She seems charming."

Berlin almost dropped his rifle as Paris stepped seemingly out of nowhere.

"Were you here the whole time?" Berlin asked incredulously. How she missed springing surprises on him.

"Well, I wanted to sneak out quietly, but then it got interesting. And I must say your techniques were a little stale. And harsh."

"Ariadna thinks otherwise."

"Of course she would fake it with you. You're the one with the gun."

"I can tell when someone's faking it."

"Oh honey, you never could."

Berlin seemed like he was sulking. Good. She found it looked good on him.

"Don't you have a door to guard?"

"Sure. But I've got a hostage pet of my own to do it for me. Such eternal devotion, can you believe it? He's loyal, strong and capable." Paris said it like she had real practical experience. She sat on the table and faced him. "Besides, I'm on a break."

"So am I. So unless it's important, go bother someone else." He sneered. Ah, he's back to normal.

"Nah. I think I'll stay here for a while. So." She cocked her head to a side. "If you wanted to fuck so badly, all you had to do was ask. Me."

Berlin laughed in his infuriating way.

"Aw, Paris, Paris. I think you're still not over me."

"Maybe. But what's that gotta do with sex?"

Berlin didn't answer but there was a small smile playing on his lips.

Realisation dawned on her. She got off the table and stood facing him. "You wanted more!" She laughed. "All that talk of marriage! I thought it was to either turn her on or turn you on."

"Well, marriage seems to suit me well. After all, I've been married five times before." Berlin smiled, mockingly.

Paris raised an eyebrow.

"We were together a lot longer than this and you never brought the subject of marriage up with me."

"Aww, come on, Paris. You mean more to me than a mere hostage. I wouldn't want you playing nursemaid to a dying man. You mean too much to me."

It was a twisted logic that could only have made sense in a _Berlin_ sort of way. Despite the teasing way he said it in, she knew him well enough to know that his sense of honour had gotten in the way of a wishful fantasy, and that he had chosen honour in her case and fantasy in Ariadna's. Coming from Berlin, it was a noble act, romantic even. And almost flattering.

Almost.

"So you wanna wed and bed a hostage and leave her your money because she's nothing to you. But you won't do the same for me because I mean too much." She hated the thought of a stranger by his side in his last moments- it was a privilege she thought belonged to her alone.

Berlin smirked. "If it makes you feel any better, we did bed. Many times." He gestured between them. "In some cultures, that's considered marriage."

Paris scowled at him. How she itched to wipe that smirk off his face. Only Berlin could make her want to kiss him and kill him at the same time.

"Such grand plans. And what makes you think you're getting out of here alive?"

Berlin's smirk faltered for the tiniest moment. He looked at her for a long moment before he said two words:

"I don't."

And that's when she knew. Berlin _hoped_ that they would all get out alive, like everybody else- but he really didn't think it was possible. He wouldn't leave things to chances, though, because he always had a plan. And there was only one plan, only one thing a dying man could offer. She slapped him.

She cursed. He didn't look surprised at her outburst. Far from it, it looked as though he welcomed it.

She slapped him again. And again.

She raised her hand again and Berlin caught it in his. He slowly shook his head. _Please don't,_ he seemed to say and she felt her eyes sting. He smiled sadly and blinked, looking away himself.

"And I, like a fool, promised you non-interference."

"Paris..."

She reached out and touched his face. He closed his eyes and turned to her, leaning into her touch and sighed as her other hand cupped the side of his face. She threaded through his hair and pulled him closer to plant a kiss at the corner of his mouth.

He whispered her name in her ear. She pulled away to look at him and their gaze locked. Their arms wrapped around each other as they leaned in, only inches away from each other.

And then their lips met, they kissed and were overcome by a sense of desperate need and urgency, giving into months and years of bottled up passion.

They broke away when Berlin carried her in his arms and deposited her gently on the sofa.

* * *

She eyed Berlin's medicine kit. There were many shots left in it and she was sure it even had a secret compartment. If he's made up his mind, he won't need it anymore. There was still a way to...She fingered the tranquiliser in her pocket just as the door opened and Berlin came in.

She gazed into his eyes hoping she wouldn't read there what she feared. No such luck.

There was a sense of foreboding hanging over them both. And he walked with a sense of purpose and grim resolve that wasn't in him before. Like a man prepared to go to the gallows.

"No!"

Berlin looked up. Paris walked up to him and grabbed him by the collar fiercely.

"So you've made up your mind? Fine. Fine. But I still need something I can take with me. So that I can forget you now. Give me something of yours to remember you by. Give me. _Something_."

Berlin smiled and then leaned in to plant a soft kiss on her forehead and a lingering one on her lips. He whispered into her ears.

"I give you three." He traced a hand down her body and paused briefly at her belly. Yours and mine.

He knew. She could see it in his eyes. She sighed. Of course. Of all the people who fooled around at the mansion. She let go.

"Do you remember the place we had once, you, me and Sergio, with a blue safe in the wall?

"Yes. The one where you wanted to collect seashells." Berlin nodded.

"Find it. Sergio knows the combination."

"I love you." She said, as though her lips had a life of their own.

Berlin said nothing but took her hands in his and pressed it to his lips.

The time had come.

* * *

Berlin spoke into the microphone. Paris pulled him down to speak to the Professor herself. Ariadna stood around nervously.

"Professor. I'm ready to go down the tunnel." Some of the soldiers in the group were loyal to the Professor just as Helsinki was to Berlin. She couldn't risk them ruining what little time she had left. The tunnel took an average person several minutes to get through. It would take her less than that. She knew her way around tunnels.

"Go ahead," the Professor replied.

She turned to Berlin.

"Go on, Paris," he commanded. She nodded and came closer to him. Berlin gave a very quick glance behind her. She knew he was signalling to Helsinki to stand by to drag her away if it came to it.

She put up her hand behind her. "Wait." She couldn't leave without a final goodbye.

She stood on her toes and wrapped an arm around him. He paused as though afraid she would pull a trick on him. How well he knew her. If it were under different circumstances, and if she had tranquilisers with her right then, she would have stuck them in him and dragged him through the tunnel herself. But no, Berlin wanted to go out in a blaze of glory and honour. And you couldn't stall a dying man, much less a dead man. Only Berlin could make her want to kiss him and kill him at the same time, and she chose the former.

"No tricks." She reassured him. She leaned in to kiss him and he didn't resist. He wrapped an arm around her as he kissed her back. They pulled away, almost reluctantly.

"Sculptor must sculpt," he said.

He was still looking at her, though. It took him long enough but he was going to say it. She smiled and then backed away towards the vault.

"Come with me," she said. A last, desperate, foolhardy, light-hearted attempt.

He shook his head. Of course he would.

"I love you," he said, at last, smiling. Death freeing him to say what he always wanted to.

And just as she was about to enter the vault and never see him again, he spoke again. No. He _hummed, _he sang_. _A tune, a line.

"Bella Ciao, Bella Ciao..."

And she joined him: "Bella ciao, ciao, ciao."

_We are the resistance. _She entered the vault and with a brief nod in Nairobi's direction, entered the tunnel.

She would mourn later.

* * *

Andres, Sergio and she had grown up together. They played together in the sand and threw pebbles into ponds. Sergio was always the quiet, serious one. Andres was loud and fun. She was wild and carefree. She loved spending time with the brothers, especially Andres. They bonded very quickly.

She was a very pretty child and had grown up to be a very pretty woman. One day, a college student gave her a birthday present. He blushed as he did so, but she accepted the small parcel quite graciously.

Andres and Sergio had sprayed it with anti-septic disinfectants while she stood there rolling her eyes. When she finally got to take it with her and open it in private, she was overjoyed.

It was a blue wooden boat the boy had made himself. It was named Freedom. Berlin looked upset when he learnt of it. Paris didn't mention it to him again.

The very next birthday, he gave her a present, too. It was a red boat and he had handcrafted out of wood himself. Although it looked artfully made, the craftsmanship was not perfect. It was crude in places and the painting was irregular. It was still lovely, though. She loved it.

A couple of days later, the blue boat had gone missing. Paris thought it had something to do with Berlin but he denied it vehemently. Sergio took his side and defended his brother. After a bit of a fight, she gave up. Berlin looked so sad later that she ended up cheering him up. For a moment, she thought she saw a mischievous smile on his lips. But she brushed it aside for his sake.

_Are you still mad at me? _he had asked her.

_Of course not, Andres, _she had said_. It's just a boat. _And she had kissed his cheek. They held hands as they sat together on the steps of the house.

In the blue safe in front of her, among the other items, were two small wooden boats. One was blue and had the word Freedom written on it. _Oh, Andres, _she thought as she imagined him grinning mischievously at her. The other was red. Paris smiled and picked up the red boat. She closed the safe behind her and hugged it to her chest, and moments later left the apartment.

The red boat was named _The Resistance_.


	12. Chapter 12

"I don't"

That's when she knew. It was the way he said it. An annoying chuckle that quickly turned into a lopsided smile and a hard gaze, the subtle turn of the head. And the locking of their gazes.

The arrogant sense of superiority of knowing something she doesn't, the cruel mirth he found in it, the truth that he couldn't deny or keep from her and yet wanted to, the calm acceptance of the inevitable...

She knew him so well. And she finally understood what had struck her as odd that night at the mansion.

He never believed the plan was foolproof, even if he hoped it was. Even if he would try to uphold it to perfection till the very end. But he was no fool and didn't believe in taking chances with his team, not while he was the commander.

As much as he wasn't one to rat his colleagues out, he also wasn't one to fail them. If worst came to worst, there's only one thing, one final plan, a dying man could offer.

He had come ready to die. That was his plan all along. The captain always stayed with the ship.

She knew him well and she wished she didn't. There was an overwhelming feeling growing in her that she didn't realise, until she gave it release, with all her strength. Because it took strength to not feel right then. And even then she failed.


End file.
